


pop open a third bottle of bubbly

by jadeddiva



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3085229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots from Tumblr focusing on Captain Swan or Outlaw Queen in a modern AU setting on New Year's Eve/Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Outlaw Queen, snowed in at an airport on NYE

**Author's Note:**

> Title for this collection comes from the D-Plan song 'The Ice of Boston'

“You have got to be kidding.”

 

Regina slams her palm against the side of her MacBook, but Mary Margaret’s face is already gone, and it’s only her own angry, bitter expression staring back at her (ugh, is that a new wrinkle?).   The airport internet was spotty at best anyway, what with all of the people crammed into this tiny space, so she’s not surprised but that doesn’t mean she’s not pissed.  It’s New Year’s Eve, and she’s at the airport, not at home with her son, and for the first time in years she’ll be ringing in the new year alone.

 

With a huff, she slams the lid down on her laptop and pulls her power cord out of the charging station. She shoves both into her carry-on and stands, her recently-vacated place immediately filled by yet another harried traveler looking to charge their phone. Regina inhales, then exhales sharply: she’s not going to pick a fight with someone she might be crammed onto a bus with in the near future (she’s not, she’s sorely tempted but she’s not).

 

Shrugging her purse over her shoulder, Regina grabs the handle of the small rolling bag she brought with her. This was supposed to be a quick overnight trip - a meeting with the program sponsor, then home in time to wear silly hats and drink sparkling grape juice with Henry. Instead, she’s stuck in DC, where all of the planes are grounded due to a freak ice storm.

 

“Just my luck,” she mutters under her breath before trying to seek out a quiet space.   There are two levels to this hellhole of a gate, and most everyone is clustered at the top of the escalator, clearly following the directions on the sign that says to not proceed down the escalator to the gate itself until called.

 

Good thing that Regina’s never been one to follow directions.

 

The lower level is crowded, but not to the extent of upstairs, and she manages to find a quiet space in the corner. She deposits her possessions and pulls out her phone to find that Mary Margaret’s been texting her, promising her that Henry will be fine with her and David, and that she’ll try to FaceTime again closer to midnight so that Regina can wish him a happy new year. Regina tries to sound positive in her response, but it’s impossible to be when she’s not home in Storybrooke with her son. She’s been spending too much time at work lately with this grant, and Henry had been looking forward to a few days without her staying late at the office and –

 

The guilt trickles up her spine and she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.   Maybe she can get some work done here and then spend all of her remaining time off with Henry…

 

She puts her phone away and pulls back out her laptop, powering it up before realizing that all of her files are on the cloud and internet is even worse down here.

 

She curses under her breath, and closes her laptop lid just a bit more aggressively than she needs to before slumping back in her seat.  

 

This is turning into a freaking disaster.

 

“Computer trouble?” someone asks from nearby, and Regina looks up sharply, retort already on her lips, to see a (rather handsome, if scruffy-looking) British man staring at her from across the aisle and a few seats down.   Regina raises her eyebrows before returning her laptop to her bag.

 

“More like user error,” she admits, because she should have been smarter and downloaded the files (just like she should have checked the weather report, and then re-checked and she should have left earlier, like Belle did, but of course she had to stop by the Air and Space Museum to pick something up for Henry in an effort to assuage her guilt about this trip…)

 

“Hmm.” The man opens his mouth to respond further, but his phone rings at that moment, and he gives her a sad smile before answering the phone call.   Regina takes out her own phone in an effort to kill time, yet she can’t help but overhear what sounds (to her, at least) like some sort of custody situation.  She catches bits and pieces of the conversation before he hangs up, shifting awkwardly in her seat so that she doesn’t appear to be eavesdropping.

 

“You don’t have to be discrete, you know.”

 

Regina looks up to find the man smiling at her sadly. She returns the smile.

 

“I didn’t mean to –“

 

“It’s hard not to, given the conditions,” he admits.   “I was supposed to be home for New Year’s Eve and I’m not, which means that my ex-wife has to keep our son for one more day.”   He rolls his eyes. “To say she’s happy about canceling her plans with her new boyfriend would be an understatement.”

 

Regina frowns, trying not to make any comment about a stranger’s ex-wife, but her emotions must show on her face because the man stops her with a raised hand. “In her defense, this is not the first time that business has called me away from home at a moment’s notice, or asked Marian to change her plans at the last minute.”

 

“I understand,” Regina tells him. “I’m in a similar situation.”

 

“Son or business?” he asks.

 

Regina laughs. “Both, actually.”

 

There is a moment afterwards, where the man looks at her with such sympathy and understanding that Regina can’t help but extend her hand. “Regina Mills,” she says, introducing herself.

 

“Robin Locksley.” His hand is warm in hers, and he’s got a good grip, and there’s something comforting about that, in spite of everything else going on.

 

They talk easily after that. She tells him about Henry, who is eleven and wants to be an astronaut when he grows up. In return, he tells her about his son Roland, who is four and who wants to be a dragon tamer or an outlaw (“it changes every week, to be quite honest”)

 

Regina also tells him about Storybrooke, about her role in the town government and the grant they’ve recently acquired to help fund breakfast programs for (all three) schools in town.   He tells her about the community food nonprofit that he helps run (one of his colleagues, a pink-cheeked and mildly intoxicated friar, arrives during their conversation and prompt falls asleep in a nearby chair).  

 

It’s easy talking to him – so easy that the time seems to pass quickly, even though their planes are still iced over and they’re not getting out any time soon.   So easy that Regina is surprised to find her phone buzzing. It’s Mary Margaret who tries to connect with her through FaceTime but fails once more. Instead, she counts down over the phone with Henry, watching the ball drop on the TV out of the corner of her eye.

 

“I’ll be home soon,” she promises, crossing her arms over her chest, trying not to feel desperate as she glances out the window and sees the ice has turned to snow.   When she hangs up, she wipes her hand across her eyes, feeling exhausted.   She doesn’t want to be here, she wants to be home with her son, and even if the ruggedly-attractive British guy was fun to talk to, he’s not home. He’s not Henry (he’s not her love).

 

“Fancy a drink?”

 

Regina turns around to find Robin behind her, a plastic cup full of something in his outstretched hand.   She frowns at first, taking the cup cautiously before she notices that everyone else at the gate has one too (she’d been so focused on Henry, on the phone call, that she hadn’t noticed the gate staff giving out small cups of cheap champagne, which is a surprising and utterly welcome treat).  

 

Robin holds the glass up, tapping it against her down. “Happy New Year,” he tells her. “May this year be better than the last.”

 

“Considering how the last ended, I don’t think that’s too hard,” Regina says snarkily, but she can’t help and smile before taking a sip of her drink.   Even if she can’t be with her son, at least Robin’s not bad company, and she appreciates the gesture (after all, if she can’t be with her handsome young man, she’ll take what she can get).

 

The storm ends around 3, and by 5 she’s ready to board her plane.   Robin’s passed out in the seat across from hers, and she doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye, so she jots down a note on her business card and slips it into his coat pocket before grabbing her bags and heading out into the crisp, cold air to board the shuttle to her plane.  

 

Mary Margaret meets her at the airport with Henry, and Regina is so tired that she barely listens to Henry as he tells her about beating David at Monopoly _and_ Apples to Apples last night. She climbs into the backseat with Henry, wrapping her arm around him, letting his voice calm her nerves.   Just as she’s drifting off to sleep, her phone vibrates in her coat pocket, and she pulls out it, checks the message from an unfamiliar number.

 

 **I hope you have wonderful New Year’s Day** – Robin

 

Regina smiles, and stares at the message.

 

 **You too** **J** she types in response before saving his number to her phone, just in case.

 

(She uses it two days later about something that Henry does, and he texts back with a Roland anecdote, and it spirals out of control from there but it’s not the worst thing that’s happened in her life, having someone else to talk about stuff with, and when he suggests visiting with Roland for New Year’s that year, she tells him to take the train just in case he’s snowed in again).


	2. Captain Swan, meeting at the gym because of new year's resolutions

Emma is not a morning person, nor is she someone who follows a routine, but if this serious piece of eye candy running on the treadmill is the reward she gets for being up at 7am, she may never hit the snooze button again.

 

When she was looking for apartments, she had a few requirements: no sketchy landlords; washer and dryer included; 24-hour health center with proxy-card access. Emma’s hours were erratic at best, and so being able to do her own laundry on her own schedule, as well as not have to drag herself to some mega-gym full of blonde girls in Lululemon was a giant bonus (plus, lack of a creepy landlord).   After all, there are some things she fails at (routines, relationships, avoiding sale emails from the Gap) but Emma never misses a day at the gym.

 

And thankfully, the tiny apartment gym was never really occupied except by her, the elderly couple who walked for thirty minutes on the treadmill each day, and that one guy who liked to do sprints on the elliptical (as if) while wearing some sort of sweat-inducing space jacket (gross).   Usually it was Emma, the rowing machine, and the Food Network (so, basically, heaven).

 

But that all changed starting January 2, and suddenly her near-empty gym is packed with people she didn’t even know lived in her apartment complex. 4pm is bad, 6pm is worse, and Emma doesn’t even make it in the door at 8pm, when all of the people who work downtown seem to have finally made it home to work on their fitness.   With a huff, she slips her water bottle back into her bag and turns around, resolving to do some pilates or something in front of her tv but ordering pizza instead.

 

That’s when the brilliant idea hits her: 6am. No one should be up that early, which means the gym should be empty which means she won’t feel crappy/grumpy/out of it for missing the endorphins of her usual work-out. Right? Right.

 

So when the alarm goes off just after six, Emma hauls herself down to the gym, and sighs in contentment when she finds that it’s mostly empty save for one guy on the treadmill who’s watching the news. She grabs her water bottle, puts in her earbuds, and heads to the open area by the mirror to stretch.

 

As she walks by, she catches a glimpse of the guy out of the corner of her eye and – holy crap. Even gross and sweaty he’s still a hunk, and so she sneaks a glance again. There’s something about the way that he runs that tells her this isn’t a one time thing she tries to not stare but _hello calves_ and _hello ass_ (it takes her a second to snap herself out of it, because she would be super pissed if someone was ogling her like she as just ogling him).

 

Warm-up complete, she heads to the open treadmill at the end of the row, just at the same time as he is finishing his run and starting to cool down.   Their eyes meet as he slows down, and she smiles and says _good morning._ He smiles back, and she notices that he has dimples, and that is enough to make her kick up the intensity on her treadmill.

 

She is so focused on her music, on the feeling of her limbs as she starts to run (on not looking at him) that she forgets about him for a moment, and when she looks back at the treadmill he is gone. There is the sound of metal on metal behind her, though, and she glances in the mirror to find that he is now at one of the weight machines.

 

 

Luckily, that is the moment that two sleepy-eyed girls enter and, glancing at both Emma and the man, head for the ellipticals. They are followed by some dude-bro in a sleeveless tee who goes straight for the treadmill to her left, and after that, more residents start to trickle in. By the time Emma finishes her run, it’s pretty obvious that there are people vying for the treadmill, but her mystery man is gone.

 

So she does it again the next day, and the next, and even if the gym fills up by 7am, she still tries to go there, earlier and then earlier still. She tells herself it’s because she doesn’t want to have to compete for time on the machines, but she knows it’s because of Dimples McGee and his amazing ass (and she hates herself for thinking that, hates herself more for objectifying some guy she doesn’t know, but she doesn’t have a lot going for her in the romance department these days, despite what Mary Margaret made her wish for on New Year’s Eve).

 

One morning, she makes it there before he does, and is halfway through her run when he arrives, looking hot but exhausted. He grabs the machine next to hers, and Emma takes her earbuds out to talk to him.

 

“You’re late,” she says, not sure why she says it, just to make conversation (maybe it will be easier to drool over this guy when she actually speaks to him instead of just stares) and he laughs (oh, crap, dimples alert).

 

“Yeah, well, my brother’s in town, and he wanted to take me out last night,” he admits, and she was not expecting the gravely tone to this voice that speaks of booze and bars and cigarette smoke, nor the British accent that comes with it. “But I can’t miss my work-out.”

 

“Me neither,” Emma remarks. “You have the right idea, coming early. This place is so crazy right now.” She smiles, and he smiles back, and she notices that his eyes are blue and not drifting below her neck, which is a pleasant surprise (she knows that Dudebro spends half of his workout staring at her ass, which is straight-up creepy).

 

“I know,” he says with a laugh, “even if I don’t think it’s that great this morning.”

 

“At least you can follow a routine,” Emma points out. “I can’t do that.”

 

“I would disagree – I’ve seen you in here every morning for nearly two weeks. I think you’ve got this.”

 

“When sufficiently moviated.” Emma looks away, a blush coming to her cheeks that has nothing to do with her workout and everything to do with the way that the words just sortof came out, and they’re lingering in the air like they mean something and they don’t, because she doesn’t even know his name and –

 

“I thought about sleeping in, but I wanted to see you.”

 

Emma nearly trips when he says that, slowing down her machine and propping her feet on either side of the treadmill before looking at him because there was no way that he could be serious but, judging from the way that he was looking at her with sleepy eyes and an honest smile, she had to believe him. And that’s okay, because she knows that he’s the reason she’s been waking up at an ungodly hour just to get to the gym.

 

“I’m Emma,” she tells him, wiping her hand against her workout pants.

 

“Killian,” he responds, never breaking stride, and Emma turns back to the treadmill with a smile, resuming her pace and, every so often, glancing over to smile at him (which is okay, because he’s totally smiling back).


	3. Captain Swan + the morning after the day before (here's to another damned new year)

 

**here’s to another new year**

When Emma wakes, it’s to the sounds of footsteps and a vague recollection that she probably should be doing something, but she can’t remember exactly what.  There’s a movement at the edge of her bed (and at the edge of her mind, she remembers that she promised Ruby she’d do karaoke at the party but that was before she drank most of the bottle of wine that Mary Margaret brought) and so she reaches out from underneath the covers and slaps at her friend.

"Go away, I’ll sing with you another time," she says, grabbing her spare pillow and wrapping it around her, burrowing deeper into her bed.  Her hand connects with something - a sweater, and an elbow - and she freezes, because whatever she’s smacking feels bigger than Ruby.

She’s rewarded with a (definitely) masculine chuckle.

Emma takes a moment to check and make sure that’s she’s dressed, eyes squeezing shut as her hand travels south (she can feel her flannel pajama pants brushing against her calves, and her fingers touch the him of her t-shirt). There’s a cotton-y taste in her mouth and she takes a deep breath, braces herself for whatever mistake she’s made before opening her eyes.

 

Killian (Killian) is seated at the edge of her bed, looking tired but there’s a smile on his face and affection in his gaze as he looks down at her, and Emma sits up, wrapping the covers around her, wondering just what she did last night with him.

 

“Good morning, Swan,” he tells her. “I’m sorry to wake you but I wanted to check on you before I left.”

 

There are lines from a pillow on his face and his hair is a mess but he still looks attractive and there’s a part of Emma that hates herself (and him, no one should look that hot so early) but another part that is almost proud because if there’s one thing that’s true about Killian Jones, it’s that he’s a freaking attractive (and he knows it, which makes him insufferable 99% of the time except now, when he’s looking at her with such care that it makes her uncomfortable).

 

“Okay,” she says, squeezing the comforter in her hands. “Did we…” she trails off, unsure of what to say because everyone in their little friends group knows that one night stands are Emma’s standard operating procedure (she’s got enough issues that she’s got a subscription) but hooking up with someone in their little friends group is something she hasn’t done before, even if Killian is kindof on the fringe, a friend of Ruby’s and David’s who has helped her move and who lives three blocks away so he stops by the bar for happy hour and came to her Super Bowl party last year (he brought cheese dip which she pretty much ate on her own, no shame).  

 

But there’s a pounding in her head and a taste of regret in her mouth, and she just needs to know, so she can figure out where to go from here.

 

Killian smiles at her just a bit sadly, and Emma can feel shame creeping up her spine before he even opens his mouth. “There was a kiss – several, in fact – but you really enjoyed the wine last night, so I helped you to bed and slept on the couch. And, for the record,” he adds, “I offered to have Ruby help you change into your pajamas but you steadfastly refused.”

  
Emma glances down to see that her t-shirt is on backwards and inside out, but staring at the article of clothing keeps the shame contained, allows her to think back to last night, and the way that she decided to go for it, to grab the charms he always wears around his neck and to pull him down for a kiss (he tasted like rum and like candy canes, leftovers brought by Ruby from the diner). She remembers, vaguely, hazily, the way that his arms felt around her, the way that he wove his fingers, into her hair (she remembers something else too, something whispered to her as everyone counted down around her, but she can’t recall a single word of what he said, can’t remember anything but the heat of his breath against her ear and how she shivered when his fingers brushed against the bare skin underneath her sweater).

 

“Here.” He hands her a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin, which she takes eagerly, sipping from the glass before placing it on the bedside table, turning her attention to the damn childproof pill bottle.   Before she knows it, Killian is removing it from her hands, opening it with ease and placing two pills in her palm.   There’s something in the gesture that makes her breath catch – the careful way that he closes the bottle and places it on her nightstand, the way that he smiles down at her when he stands up (she wonders just want sort of fool she made of herself to make him act like this, so nice and considerate).

 

“Happy New Year, Swan,” he says softly, heading towards the door. “By the way, there’s a Ruby passed out on your papasan.”

 

“Thanks for the warning,” Emma says, the throbbing in her temples growing as she takes the pills and finishes the glass of water before sliding back under the covers. She falls into the kind of deep yet restless sleep that comes with a wine hangover, and when she wakes up she feels worse than she did before, because now instead of just being stupid about drinking too much, she feels guilty about trying to hook up with a friend, and even worse because she didn’t thank him for not being a creeper.

 

The fact that he could have slept with her and didn’t – the fact that he slept on the couch, and made sure he was okay, lingers with her as she takes her shower, because that man has never turned down the attention of a girl as long as she’s known him, which isn’t that long but Ruby’s implied that he’s never lonely and David sometimes teases him for the notches on his bedpost.   She’s thankful, because she knows she was pretty gone last night, but it’s not until she exists her bedroom to find Ruby sipping water and eating crackers on her couch and an entirely clean kitchen that it really hits her.

 

There’s a note on the counter from Killian saying that he took out the trash and the recycling, and that the leftovers are in the fridge, and Emma stares at it. This is something Mary Margaret would do, not something she’d ever expect from Killian, but it occurs to her as she gets more water from the fridge that she doesn’t really know what he would do.   She doesn’t know him well but she wonders if anyone does, because he’s like her in that he keeps up his defenses, buries everything under a layer of charm and sass (not unlike her own hostility and sarcasm) and suddenly that embarrassment comes back full force, making her face flush and her body recoil because she practically threw herself at him, drunken mess that she was, and his only response was to take care of her.

 

“I saw Killian leave,” Ruby says from the couch, flipping through channels until she settles on a Castle marathon. “He took out the trash.”

 

“I know,” Emma says quietly, staring at the note.

 

“I know a lot of guys, and none of them take out the trash after a hook-up,” Ruby states plainly, and Emma takes a deep breath before she responds, “we didn’t hook up, he slept on the couch.”

 

“I know a lot of guys, and none of them take out the trash after not getting laid,” Ruby counters, but it doesn’t make Emma feel better – it just makes her feel worse, because she’s not used to people doing things for her, can’t handle it when ever her friends help her because dealing with the fact that someone cares about her (and might still leave her, in the end) is too much for her to deal with.

 

Emma finds her phone buried in the comforter, and sits down on the edge of her bed, staring at the screen. It takes her a few minutes before she can compose the message, but when she does, she simply tells Killian **thank you for helping me – I’m sure you had other plans, and I appreciate it.**

 

His response is instantaneous.   **Actually, I didn’t, and it was not a big deal. I hope you’re feeling better.**

 

Emma snorts at his response. **Really? Like the infamous Killian Jones didn’t have a better offer than my pathetic excuse for a party.**

**Does that surprise you?**

 

It does, because she would have thought – she would have guessed – it was a small party, and not even that great, and she barely made it to midnight before hitting on him, making a fool of herself while he –

 

It comes back to her, suddenly, the conversation they had that she thought she had forgotten – the way that he stopped kissing her, the way that he asked “Are you sure?” before she nodded, pulling his mouth back to hers, and the smile on his face before he kissed her again, the way that he said her name (with tenderness and care, and she sighs when she thinks about the way that he looked at her, and the way that he was so gentle yet eager, the way that he let her take the lead - )

 

 **I’m sorry I was such a hot mess last night** , she texts back, because she was and she is sorry, that was unfortunate for him to see her like that –

 

**You’re hot most days, Swan – you’re allowed to be a mess on NYE.**

 

Emma laughs and rolls her eyes because this is bad even for him, but her fingers are shaking when she tells him **I know you can do better than that, Jones** , and his response makes her heart ache and her stomach flip and her cheeks flush (and how is he doing this to her?).

 

**I’m not sure that I can now that I know how you kiss.**

 

It’s loaded and they both know it (he has to know it, right?), and she stares at the words, slowly picking apart all of their time together, the way that it felt to be in his arms and the way that he smiled at her, last night and this morning – the way that he helped when her bathtub was plugged up and her landlord kept delaying and the way that he walked her home one night after happy hour when it was raining and she forgot her umbrella – and puts the phone down before falling back on her bed and staring at the ceiling.   It is too much and not enough, and underneath her fingertips she can still feel the softness of his sweater and she closes her eyes. It is too much, far too much, and yet not enough, and she’s never done this before but it’s a brand new year and she can still remember the feel of his lips on hers.

 

She grabs her phone.

 

**I was thinking about ordering pizza. You want to come over?**

 

His response is quick. **Sure. I’ll see you soon**.

 

Emma replies **good** (it is a brand new year, after all, and maybe she can take a chance on this. After all, he did take out her trash).


End file.
